Watching Duino (2024) felt like stepping into a mirror and seeing parts of myself I hadn’t recognized before. The quiet tenderness of its storytelling, the rawness of its emotional hidden layer, hit close to home in a way I didn’t expect. From the opening moments, where the camera clicks and the frame freezes on Matías behind the lens, I was reminded of my own relationship with memory, and how often it’s filtered through a lens—whether literal or emotional. The film immerses its audience in a sensory experience from the start, utilizing sound design and
self-reflexivity to draw attention to its medium. The sharp clicks of a camera, transitioning into an image of the camera screen, introduce a self-aware narrative that emphasizes the film’s search for identity and memory through the protagonist’s lens.
At its core, the film follows Matías, a young Argentine navigating the complexities of his new life at the United World College (UWC) in Duino, Italy. The cultural and geographical shift Matías undergoes is profound, not just physically but emotionally and socially. As he adapts to this new environment, Matías grapples with feelings of alienation, particularly as he enters a world of privilege while carrying the weight of his past in Argentina—a place he had left behind to seek new opportunities. The narrative takes an innovative approach, interweaving two parallel timelines: the youth of Matías, portrayed by Santiago Madriñán, and the adult version of him, played by Juan Pablo Di Pace, now a filmmaker struggling to complete a feature film. These timelines converge in ways that speak to both the continuity and rupture of his personal and artistic journey. In the beginning, Matías is fixated on getting the perfect shot—he is obsessed with capturing an image that will encapsulate his feelings and his past. But as the film progresses, the audience sees how this obsession reverberates in the present day. Matías struggles to edit the film, unable to complete the narrative without that final, elusive shot. His painful inability to move forward in his project mirrors his emotional paralysis in real life, where he is stuck reliving the past rather than finding a way to move beyond it.
The tension between these two timelines reflects the cyclical nature of memory and identity, reinforcing the idea that past experiences, even the most fleeting, shape and distort the present. While the older Matías obsesses over perfecting his work on set, striving to capture the “right shot,” he remains emotionally fixated on the past, particularly his brief but intense relationship with Alexander, a Swedish student played by Oscar Morgan. The pain of reliving those moments is evident as Matías, in his present-day, struggles to finish the film, finds himself unable to move past the absence of Alexander. The tension between these timelines speaks to the lingering hold the past has on Matías’s present, a memory he cannot escape.
The narrative’s focus on memory is reinforced by the film’s dance sequences, such as the tango, a native dance from Matías’s country, which serves as both an artistic and emotional expression of his cultural roots. On his first day at UWC, Matías is prompted to dance the tango, which becomes a defining event in his relationship with his classmates. It sparks the running joke at UWC, where his peers affectionately refer to him as the “Argentinian Fred Astaire.” The playful nickname is not just a lighthearted moment, but also a key to understanding Matías’s character—his dance becomes a means of both connecting with others and asserting his identity in a foreign environment. The romantic, almost dreamlike imagery of the past, especially when paired with Duino’s stunning scenery, imbue the film with a sense of nostalgic yearning that anchors Matías’s emotional journey. Duino, the town in which the film is set, plays a vital role in this exploration of memory and identity. Known for its association with the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino’s melancholic and romantic history serves as a metaphor for Matías’s emotional struggles. Just as Rilke’s Duino Elegies question existential longing and unfulfilled desires, the film’s portrayal of Matías’s journey is one of grappling with love, identity, and the pursuit of meaning in an alienating world.
The complexities of class and repression are explored through Matías’s background and his interactions with Alexander, whose wealth and extroverted nature contrast sharply with Matías’s modest upbringing. Matías comes from a working-class family in Argentina, and his decision to apply to UWC without informing his parents, ultimately earning a full scholarship, marks his desire to escape the limitations of his past. This tension is further explored in the film’s depiction of Matías’s family, whose cultural and socioeconomic differences from Alexander’s family become a source of internal and external conflict. When Matías is invited to join Alexander’s family for the holidays, his discomfort is palpable—his longing for acceptance is juxtaposed with the emotional distance he feels in this privileged setting. His parents, however, offer a kind of unconditional support that resonates deeply, particularly in a pivotal scene where Matías’s mother lovingly acknowledges his suffering for love.
The film’s approach to queer love is both subtle and revolutionary. The relationship between Matías and Alexander is not characterized by grand romantic gestures, but by fleeting intimacy—shared glances, the proximity of their bodies, and the quiet tenderness of their interactions. These moments are fraught with tension, as both characters navigate their
desire within a world that limits their expressions of love. The film’s restraint in depicting their connection accentuates the repressive societal forces at play, making every touch and glance resonate with the weight of longing and unfulfilled potential. In a particularly touching sequence, Matías’s internal conflict and the pain of unrequited love are visualized through his observations of Alexander as he sleeps. The scene evokes the heartbreak of longing through a delicate relationship of tenderness and restraint, as Matías watches Alexander with a palpable sense of desire that he is unable (or unwilling) to express. His attempt to reach out physically, mirrored by a dreamlike fantasy where Alexander kisses him, captures the tension between repressed desires and the emotional stasis that defines Matías’s relationship with Alexander. This moment is heartbreaking in its unfulfilled longing and offers a moving reflection on the silence that often surrounds queer desire, particularly in contexts where such affection is either unspeakable or unacknowledged.
A sense of melancholic nostalgia is further emphasized through the motif of the VHS tape—a recording of Matías’s life at UWC made by his childhood friend and producer. This footage contrasts with the modern, crisp cinematography of the present-day scenes, heightening the emotional distance between Matías’s past and present. In these moments, the film reflects on memory’s fragility and how the past continues to haunt, shape, and color the present. The VHS footage of Alexander blinking at the camera becomes a profound symbol of love and longing. As the film progresses, the audience is reminded of the deep emotional impact of loss. Alexander’s departure from UWC, devastating for Matías, encapsulates the harsh realities of queer life, particularly for those from working-class backgrounds. The film powerfully portrays Matías’s grief through his attempts to physically document Alexander’s presence, highlighting the difficulty of processing loss when social and emotional barriers prevent full expression. The inclusion of these raw, intimate moments, coupled with the visual richness of the backdrop, deepens the film’s exploration of the complexities of queer desire, identity, and love.
The film’s closing moments, in which Matías hugs Alexander goodbye, provide a subtle, cathartic resolution. While the film avoids overt romantic gestures, the simplicity of this action conveys a profound emotional release. The ambiguity of the film’s ending, where the love between Matías and Alexander is left undefined, speaks to the larger theme of closure without resolution. In this way, Duino offers a meditation on love, both lost and found, and the ability to move forward, even when the past remains unfinished. Through its evocative cinematography, nuanced storytelling, and sensitive handling of memory, class, and queer identity, Duino stands as a powerful observation of the human experience. Its parallel narrative structure, combined with subtle political commentary on class disparities and repressive societal forces, invites the audience to reflect on the complexities of desire, love, and identity in a world that often denies such expressions. Ultimately, Duino is an emotional work of cinema that speaks to the universal human experience while remaining deeply rooted in its specific historical and cultural context.
Author Biography
Lexi Collinsworth is a second-year Film Studies master’s student at the University of North Carolina Wilmington. Specializing in dance filmmaking, she explores mental health themes, queer and female representation, and the cultural aesthetics of movement on screen. Through her graduate assistantship with the Career Center in Employer Development, she is leading the 2025 Spring Film Symposium in collaboration with the Film Studies Department. She also serves as a graduate teaching assistant for Film Studies. Lexi co-owns Co.Lab Creatives, founded The Reel Shot Photography, and was the Director of Photography for Asphyxia, featured at the 2024 Dance-a-lorus showcase during the Cucalorus Film Festival.
